


in the secret dark a fresh snow falls

by inber



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: But nothing sexual, Comfort No Hurt, Flirting, Fluff, Gen, Goats, Huddling For Warmth, Implied Relationships, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Platonic Cuddling, Play Fighting, Slight Hints At More Than Platonic Feelings, Snowed In, Soft Eskel (The Witcher)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:46:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27134768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inber/pseuds/inber
Summary: Eskel and Jaskier are tasked with cleaning out the barn at Kaer Morhen, when a small incident occurs. They weather the cold night together.
Relationships: Eskel & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 50
Kudos: 188





	in the secret dark a fresh snow falls

**Author's Note:**

> I asked my friends, 'what do you like reading for comfort/fluff?' and the answers were cuddling, animals, warmth/snowed in, and Eskel. So I mashed 'em all together. Just a cutefic, nothing overt or adult beyond flirting. I hope you enjoy!

“Plephf,” Jaskier spat out an errant piece of straw from his mouth, “how did we end up with barn duty, anyway?”

“You interrupted Vesemir's afternoon nap by knocking a candle into a pile of saltpeter and calcium equum whilst you were dancing, thus creating an explosion.” Eskel helpfully supplied, measuring out grain for the chickens.

“Well yeah, but you laughed.”

“Hence why I am stuck in here with you.” Eskel's smile was easy, and even through Jaskier's blatant dislike for manual labour, he found himself mirroring the expression. Despite the snarl-scar that tugged Eskel's lip upward, the man was ever-open with his emotions. Jaskier found it both refreshing and endearing.

If Geralt was to haul Jaskier's fur-bundled rump up a mountain to meet his wolf pack, Jaskier could hardly be blamed for charming them. Or for harbouring a teeny-tiny crush on Geralt's brothers. Sometimes the depths of Jaskier's affection felt limitless.

“I'd say I'm sorry, but I'm not a talented liar.” Jaskier said, grabbing a broom from where it was propped against a wall.

“Ah, there's a lie if I've ever heard one.”

Jaskier giggled. “Wouldn't lie to you, Eskel. I'm far too fond of you.”

Eskel brushed his face against his shoulder, the slice of his cheekbones blossoming pink. “Flattery won't get you out of mucking the stables after this, little bard.”

“Little, he says,” Jaskier puffed up pheasant-like as he swept, “as if I am not as tall as him. True, I lack some of the beefy broadness across the biceps – ooh, that was some nice alliteration--”

“Hush.” Eskel said, bending down to huck a clod of dirt in Jaskier's direction.

“Ooh, you absolute ruffian! To be assaulted thusly, when I am sweaty and weak!” Jaskier picked up the broom and waved it as menacingly as possible in Eskel's direction. “To arms, I say!”

There was a broken pitchfork to Eskel's left, two of the three prongs bent out of shape. He picked it up, taking a moment to place his booted foot on the metal head of it, yanking the wooden bar free. With a flourish, he twirled the makeshift stave, adopting a fierce battle stance. Eskel waggled his eyebrows at Jaskier.

“Oi, no fair,” Jaskier complained, “I only learned foppish fencing at Oxenfurt.”

As Jaskier took up his position, broom held at a downward angle in preparation, it quickly became apparent that the weight of the bristles were going to be something of an obstacle. Eskel watched with amusement. Then he parted his feet shoulder-width, raised the stick in front of his face in a perfect salute, and lowered it back down, bending his knees _en-garde_.

Jaskier's lips parted in round surprise. “You know noble fencing?”

“It's my face that is warped, Jaskier, not my mind.” Eskel replied.

“ _Warp--_ you take that back right now, my goodness gracious! You've a perfectly delightful face, Eskel.”

“Compliments aren't going to throw me, little bard.” Eskel taunted, despite the fact that his grip had white-knuckle tightened slightly.

“Well, damn,” Jaskier said, “I might as well forfeit now.”

“Oh yeah?”

Jaskier feinted forward, blunt end of the broom jabbed at Eskel's midsection, before he performed an elegant _passato sotto_ , ducking beneath Eskel's 'blade' and aiming for a slice at his legs. Eskel parried neatly, twisting his body away for distance as Jaskier pushed himself back onto his feet. They circled one another slowly.

“Sloppy, my friend,” Eskel chided, “too risky a move to start with.”

“I like risky.” Jaskier said, licking his lips.

Eskel responded with a simple lunge, his strength behind the attack, forcing Jaskier to leap backwards in order to riposte. This counter-attack was not successful, either. Jaskier brushed his sweaty fringe from his brow with his free hand.

“You're not even out of breath.” Jaskier whined.

“You're the one who challenged a witcher.”

“I did, didn't I?” Jaskier shook his head. “Gods, I truly must have been dropped on my noggin as a babe.”

“Or Geralt's lack of self-preservation is wearing off on you.” Eskel said, performing a clumsy swipe that Jaskier easily knocked back.

“That, too. I once saw him _punch_ a drowner to death. His swords were to hand and everything.”

“Don't blame him. Those fuckers are like lice. Must've been cathartic.” Eskel crossed his feet as he stepped, and Jaskier took that moment to attack.

From his pocket, a handful of birdseed. Jaskier threw it in Eskel's face, momentarily confusing the larger man, before he dropped his broom and simply barrelled his weight into Eskel's sternum. The two of them stumbled together, a wild flail, Eskel bearing the assault with a surprised grunt, and ultimately they ended up thudding hard against the side of the barn wall. Eskel stared with wide eyes, Jaskier pressed tight against his chest, panting with exertion.

“Checkmate.” Jaskier grinned.

“Not only are we not playing chess, you dropped your blade.” Eskel smirked, drawing his stick behind Jaskier, pulling him in closer. “Pawn takes king.”

“I am no monarch, and you are no pawn.” Jaskier whispered.

“What am I, then?”

“A knight, at the least.”

“Hmm. I suppose that makes you--”

Eskel was cut off by the shudder of the structure around them. Instinctively, he pulled Jaskier closer, drawing away from the wall and back towards the support beams in the centre of the barn. It felt like the mountain was quaking apart, and the two of them held their breath, waiting it out.

It couldn't have lasted longer than a minute. When the wood stopped groaning, Eskel released Jaskier, running over to the solitary barn door. The hens were squawking in their pen, and all of the goats were clambering over one another in terror. Jaskier attempted to soothe them, bribing with treats and a low, steady voice.

“Well, good news is that the barn doesn't seem damaged.” Eskel said, brow pinched. Jaskier knew that meant there was further news of the less-good variety.

“And?”

“And Vesemir, Lambert and Geralt are still out hunting the forktails nearby, I believe. It wasn't an avalanche, not exactly. We must have knocked one of the roof-beams hard enough to dislodge the snow on the barn, which then felled a couple of trees.”

“Ah.” Jaskier scrunched up his nose. “Can we dig out?”

“Not a chance.”

“Igni? Aard?”

“Even if I could clear all the snow, I can't risk setting fire to the barn. I'm not completely sure of the structural damage. Aard is too dangerous.” Eskel sighed, finally dropping the pitchfork-sword, and sat on the cobblestone ground.

“Well, hey. It's not all bad! We have eggs and water, and I doubt the others will be gone too long. How far away was the nest again?” Jaskier walked over, sitting beside Eskel.

“Day's ride. They'll be back by tomorrow afternoon at the latest.”

“Bollocks.” Jaskier flicked a piece of hay on the ground. “At least I am in good company. And ooh, I'm so strong that I nearly knocked the barn over! How about that!”

Eskel snorted, nudging Jaskier in the shoulder. “You're a dolt.”

“Been called worse by far less appealing folk.” Jaskier smiled sweetly, watching as the goats cautiously settled.

“You really are a flirt, you know that?”

“There's flirting, and then there's truth.”

Eskel had nothing to say to that. He pawed at the keloid tissue near his ear, and rose to see how Lil' Bleater was faring. Jaskier sat, watching in fond silence.

* * *

“I-i-is there a-a-nother r-rug?” Jaskier forced out, teeth clattering together. “D-don't care if it's d-d-d-irty.”

Eskel added a little more fuel to their small fire, still unwilling to build it very tall, especially since he didn't know how compromised their oxygen supply was. He placed both his huge hands on Jaskier's arms, rubbing vigorously. The bard's lips were turning darker, edging towards a worrying blue.

“No, Jaskier.” Eskel said, feeling useless. “There's not.”

“S'okay, s'okay,” Jaskier whispered, “I'm not th-that col-col-cold.”

_Fuck_. Eskel began to undo his undershirt; Jaskier was already wearing his jerkin, as well as a grain sack and an old sheepskin rug they'd discovered. Shaking his head, Jaskier grabbed at Eskel's hands.

“No, no. You'll get c-cold, too.”

“Witchers can't get sick, Jaskier,” Eskel implored with his glitter-gold eyes, “humans can.”

With a tiny grunt, Jaskier let Eskel tug the thin cotton over him, before bundling him back up. It hardly made a difference. They both knew it.

Jaskier's eyelids began to droop. Eskel studied him with mounting terror. Damn it, why had they not dressed properly to clean out the barn? It was supposed to be a simple task, in and out. Eskel should have thought ahead. A good witcher considered all possibilities.

“Forgive me for being forward, Jaskier,” Eskel said, “but I think we're going to have to resort to more desperate measures.”

“Hmm?” Jaskier blinked stickily. “Measures?”

“We're heading into the goat pen, c'mon.”

Carefully, Eskel stamped out the fire. Jaskier whined at the loss of it, before he found himself shepherded to his feet, guided towards the haphazard pile of dozing goats.

“H'come _they_ aren't cold?”

“They are used to winters, and they have each other.”

“We h-have each other.”

“Precisely.” Eskel smiled gently, and sat Jaskier down beside the warmth of the little animals. Then he pulled the sack-cloth off Jaskier's shoulders, followed by his own undershirt. These he spread on a thick pile of straw.

Eskel grabbed at the sheepskin, and Jaskier whimpered. Tracing Jaskier's jawline with a thumb, Eskel begged the bard's sleepy-blue gaze. “Trust me?”

Nodding, Jaskier relinquished his grip on the skin. With haste, Eskel divested Jaskier of the borrowed jerkin, and then his doublet. When they were both stripped down to boots and breeches, Eskel laid down on their makeshift mattress, pulling Jaskier with him. He ensured that the bard's back was pressed against the warm fur of the snoozing goats. Then he piled the clothing back onto them; shirts, leathers, and finally the wool. Eskel wrapped his large arms around Jaskier, skin-to-skin, and fervently hoped it'd be enough.

“Oh,” Jaskier whispered, after a few minutes, “oh that's... much better. I can feel my fingers!”

Eskel let out a breath he'd been holding hostage. “Yeah?”

“Yes. Mm, I'm... almost warm, I daresay. Think Lil' Bleater's hoof is on my asscheek, but we can't have everything.”

Laughing softly so as not to disturb the goats, Eskel hugged Jaskier tighter. “I'm glad you're warmer.”

“Much. Thank you, Eskel.” Jaskier nuzzled into the wiry fluff-scratch of Eskel's chest. “If only I'd known the trick to getting your shirt off was a mere medical crisis...”

“Flirt.” Eskel buried his face in the chestnut halo of Jaskier's hair, breathing in the scent of him.

“Mmhmm. S'nice, though. Trapped in a barn aside, 'course." Jaskier cuddled closer. Then he piped up again, softer. "Can we...?"

“Can we what, Jaskier?”

“Um. Do this again? But maybe indoors, and with less goats.”

Eskel hid his smile against the side of Jaskier's face. “I'd like that.”

“Humm.” Jaskier purred his pleasure, slotting his leg neatly between Eskel's, unabashed. “Good. S'good, yes.”

Holding vigil as Jaskier began to nod off, Eskel regarded the fragile human in his grasp, and felt his chest ache with the simple joy of it. The night dipped colder, but Jaskier remained warm and peaceful. It didn't matter that Eskel found no sleep. He wanted to remember every last cozy moment.

* * *

“In here!” Lambert's voice was muffled by the barrier at the door. “What the absolute _fuck._ How did they manage this?”

“Shut up and help me move this tree.” Geralt's voice barked sharply.

Some time passed; the sound of scuffling, scraping, and swearing culminated in the barn doors finally being thrown open. The mid-morning sun streamed in, illuminating Jaskier and Eskel sat amongst the goats, clad in a mish-mash of clothing.

“Well met, lads!” Jaskier chirped, holding up a small bowl. “We've made eggs, want some?”

Geralt stared at the scene, and then leaned against the door-jamb, smirking fondly. Eskel caught his gaze, and suddenly became very interested in his breakfast.

“Fuck yeah, eggs.” Lambert said, tramping over.

“All my pups accounted for?” Vesemir called from outside.

“Yup,” Geralt replied, wandering leisurely over to join the goat picnic, “safe and sound.”

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on tumblr @inber if you're also on that hellsite!


End file.
